Lady's Wager (3 page)

The Prince nodded then walked away. The other gentlemen
followed, except for Mr. Brummell who remained behind, smiling appreciatively
at Charlotte.

“My thanks to you and your opinion Miss Stuart, or should
I call you Miss Out and Outer?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Your bold tongue has secured for me one hundred pounds
from His Highness.”

“You mean we were the wager?” These men were too much.

“Of course. Good day, ladies.” He tipped his beaver hat
before turning leisurely on the heel of one highly polished boot to rejoin the
Prince.

Charlotte watched in stunned silence as the men strolled
off down Bond Street.

“I believe you impressed Mr. Brummell,” Lady Treadwell
proclaimed triumphantly. “And you redeemed yourself quite well with the Prince.
A rare accomplishment.”

“One I take no pride in,” Charlotte bristled. “Are all
London gentlemen so ill mannered as to make a lady the butt of their jokes?”

They started off again toward Hookham’s, Charlotte’s anger
giving her usually gentle stride a quick clip. Elizabeth and Lady Treadwell
rushed to keep up.

“Friendly wagers are very popular and Mr. Brummell is well
known for his unique ones,” Lady Treadwell explained. “You mustn’t be undone by
them, or take offense.”

Charlotte stopped at the entrance to Hookham’s. “The dandy
is too sure of himself. He’ll lose favor with the Prince if he’s not careful.
The Prince didn’t enjoy being laughed at.”

Lady Treadwell and Elizabeth exchanged incredulous looks.

“Mr. Brummell fall from favor?” Lady Treadwell pondered.
“It’s difficult to imagine.”

“Then all the more likely it is to happen.” Charlotte
pulled open Hookham’s front door and stormed through.

The walls of Hookham’s were lined with shelves of books
neatly arranged by category. Patrons mingled about the open center, exchanging
pleasantries and admiring the latest selection of novels and political prints.
Charlotte returned her books then marched to the science section while Lady
Treadwell and Elizabeth perused the novels a short distance away.

Charlotte yanked her desired books off the shelf, her frustration
mounting. Must London society constantly annoy her? She’d never had such
trouble in Paris where her frank opinions were appreciated, even encouraged by
the ladies and gentlemen of the salons. Of course there’d been a few members of
Parisian society who hadn’t approved of her but they’d been easily ignored. In
London, they seemed to meet her at every turn, determined to force their rules
and attentions on her no matter what she did to avoid them.

Charlotte stopped browsing for a moment and took a deep
breath, struggling to calm herself.

The Season will eventually end.
Then I can
return to Salisbury and be left in peace
.

In the mad dash to leave Paris, there’d been no time to
send word ahead to have the house in Salisbury opened. Much to their weary
dismay, they’d arrived to find Welton Place in sixes and sevens. Aunt Mary,
with an eye toward making a match for Charlotte, had suggested they spend the
Season in London while the house was set right. With Uncle Charles’ business
being in London, Charlotte could raise no objection to the plan. However,
during Charlotte’s brief visit to Salisbury she’d discovered the town was quite
without a suitable physician or clinic to serve the townspeople and the
surrounding countryside. At the end of the Season, she intended to hire the
services of a physician and provide him with adequate facilities.

“Miss Stuart, young ladies don’t usually frequent this
section of Hookham’s.”

The strong male voice startled Charlotte, causing her to
drop her books. She spun around to discover Lord Woodcliff behind her, his blue
eyes beneath his solid brow fixing on hers with stunning intensity. She’d been
so lost in thought she hadn’t heard him approach. Now, with him before her,
every notion deserted her except for fascination with his smile and the way the
light from the windows fell over the solid curve of his shoulders. He stood a
good head taller than her, his chest wide and sturdy beneath his well-fitted
coat of dark green wool.

He laid his book on the shelf then bent to retrieve hers
from the floor. His arm muscle flexed beneath his sleeve as he held the weight
of the tomes he stacked in the crook of his elbow. His strength proved as
stunning as his sudden appearance, and the pull of his dun colored breeches
over the curve of his knee. She shouldn’t be admiring him, or allowing him to
assist her, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about his
confidence and the ease with which he moved which captured her attention.

He paused to examine the slimmest of the tomes then
glanced up, one eyebrow arched. “I thought ladies shunned such subjects as
surgery and disease?”

His comment snapped her out of her unexpected and
unnerving fugue.

“I’ve heard a great deal today about gentlemen’s
expectations of ladies.” Charlotte snatched the book from him. “Gentlemen would
do well to learn not all ladies are hen-witted.”

“I’m glad to hear it, for society is already overrun with
wet geese.” He rose and beneath the high linen of his cravat, his neck muscles
tightened as he held out the stack to her.

Charlotte studied him in an attempt to discern if he was
mocking her or if he was serious, but his expression held no hint of the
arrogance he’d exhibited at the Royal Academy.

“You have an interest in science?” she asked, curiosity
momentarily overcoming her irritation as she slid the books from his hands. Her
fingers brushed his, sending a spark racing through her. She clutched the stack
against her to both protect and steady herself. She could hardly believe this
was the same gentleman she’d spoken with only the week before, and she was
acting like a besotted fool in his presence. It wasn’t like her.

“Only in regards to artistic renderings.” He slid his book
off the shelf where he’d laid it and held it up. It was a botany book with
detailed drawings of exotic plants from the Americas. “I find paintings of
plants and animals fascinating, especially those from the Colonies. I look
forward to discussing both with you tonight at your soirée. Thank you for the invitation.”

“You have Lord Ashford to thank,” she replied, resisting
the urge to inform him he’d only been invited in an effort to encourage Lord
Ashford and Elizabeth’s suit. “He’s a generous man and a great patron of the
hospital. Many London gentlemen could learn from his example.”

“I’ll endeavor to study him. Good day, Miss Stuart.” He
bowed, then strode away with a surety she admired.

She flexed her fingers over the edges of the books, her
arms beginning to burn under their weight. For a man of slender means, Lord
Woodcliff’s coat was well tailored to cover his broad back to where it tapered
to a narrow waist. His stature, as well as his neat and understated clothes
stood in stark contrast to the reed thin dandies in their bright blue coats and
the stocky old men with wrinkled collars filling the lending library. No doubt
Lord Woodcliff had a tailor’s bill as weighty as her reading selection, with no
intention of paying it until he found himself a rich wife.

She returned to browsing the shelves, the reminder of his
lack of money helping her regain her focus, but every now and again the deep
tones of Lord Woodcliff’s voice would rumble beneath the murmurs of the other
subscribers to taunt her. She slid a sideway glance to where he stood
conversing with Lord Ashford, Elizabeth and Lady Treadwell. Had he really been
teasing her about her interest in science or genuinely impressed? Considering
his previous opinion of women’s education, he must have been mocking her. Young
bucks in search of a wealthy wife often expressed great interest in art and
science in an attempt to awe her, but as soon as they realized the depth of her
knowledge, they abandoned her for other young ladies of large fortune and
little learning.

Charlotte shook her head at her foolishness. Lord
Woodcliff wasn’t likely to loiter in the science section of Hookham’s simply to
impress young heiresses. Even if he did, it didn’t matter. She possessed no
interest in him.

She hazarded another peek at him, but he and Lord Ashford
were leaving. He walked out the door, pausing on the threshold to toss her a
wink before disappearing into the crowd outside.

Embarrassment swept through her and she eyed those around
her to make sure no one had noticed the exchange. It wasn’t like her to moon
over a man, especially after her experience with the Comte. She added another book
to her selection, ignoring the pain in her arms and her chest. She’d already
made one mistake by trusting a nobleman. She wasn’t about to make another.

Charlotte paused at the drawing room door, congratulating
herself on the success of her soirée. The candles cast a warm glow over the
finely attired guests as they moved about the room. The subtle tones of the
hired harpist’s melodies punctuated the scene. Matrons, dressed in the latest
fashions, sat together along the walls eagerly watching for the slightest hint
of interest between the young people conversing. Uncle Charles stood near the
fireplace with the other husbands, all of whom were quite content to leave
matchmaking to their wives while they debated the latest happenings in
Parliament.

Charlotte threaded through the guests to reach Aunt Mary
who sat gossiping on the settee with Mrs. Knight and Mrs. Greenville, Minnie
firmly entrenched in her lap.

“See Aunt Mary, the evening is a success,” Charlotte
announced.

“You have the potential to be a great hostess someday,”
Aunt Mary held up her wine glass, her mood having much improved since this
morning.

“I have Mrs. Greenville to thank for it. I learned all I
know about society fundraising from her.”

“Oh, Miss Stuart, how you flatter me,” Mrs. Greenville
laughed, her large stomach and ample bosom barely contained by the dark blue
brocade of her dress. With her shock of red hair and bold manner, Mrs. Greenville
was a formidable force when it came to soliciting funds for worthy causes. “I
hope you’ll be as generous during my Widows and Orphans of the War with
Napoleon Fund art auction.”

“Aunt Mary and Lady Redding are taking me to Mr. Taylor’s
tomorrow so I may select a painting to donate.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” She turned to her daughter, a
slender, shy woman who stood next to the settee, doing her best to disappear
into the wall. “Penelope, you could learn a thing or two from Miss Stuart.
Perhaps then you’d show more interest in society and less interest in books.”

Charlotte’s heart went out to the poor girl, for although
Charlotte greatly admired Mrs. Greenville’s commitment to charity, she knew her
daughter’s reserved nature was a direct result of her mother’s overly forceful
one. Charlotte, desiring all her guests to be comfortable, quickly changed the
subject.

“Penelope, you must allow me to introduce you to Lord
Marston.” Charlotte motioned to a slender young man admiring the Grecian urn in
the corner.

“Thank you,” Penelope smiled shyly as Charlotte took her
by the arm and led her across the room.

“Lord Marston has five thousand pounds a year and a great
deal of land,” Mrs. Knight loudly whispered to Mrs. Greenville before Charlotte
and Penelope were out of hearing.

“You needn’t bother on my account,” Penelope meekly
protested.

“Nonsense. I think you’ll enjoy speaking with Lord
Marston, he’s a great reader,” Charlotte tried to ease the girl’s nerves as
they approached the young man. “Lord Marston, may I introduce Miss Greenville.
She’s also an admirer of ancient Greek art.”

“I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know as much as I should.”
Lord Marston bowed to them, his attention fixed on Penelope who stared more at
her feet than the lord. “But I’d be happy to learn if you, Miss Greenville,
would teach me.”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled and she regarded Lord Marston
from beneath her long lashes. “I’d be happy to teach you. Do you see this
figure on the vase?”

She explained the Grecian figures, much to Lord Marston’s
visible enjoyment.

Charlotte politely excused herself to join the other young
gentlemen and ladies surrounding the table in the center of the room. The glass
vials, now filled with strange liquids, glistened in the candlelight and
attracted a great deal of attention.

“Miss Stuart, tell us what you have planned this evening,”
Lord Redding, fifth Earl of Redding and Lady Redding’s young nephew, encouraged
as Charlotte approached the group. His aunt had been unable to attend, much to
Aunt Mary’s and Charlotte’s disappointment, but she’d sent her rakish but
genial and influential nephew in her place.

“I hardly know what Dr. Walter has in store for us. But he
assures me it’s wonderful and of great use to the hospital, which is in need of
so many things.”

“Then we must see it has all it requires,” Lord Redding
announced with all the surety of a man who set many fashions among the
ton
,
and the others nodded in obedient agreement.

Charlotte was grateful for his presence and his
enthusiasm. With his influence, even the younger set would be generous tonight.

“Charlotte, Lord Ashford has arrived,” Elizabeth
breathlessly exclaimed, coming up beside Charlotte.

“I know, I invited him,” she answered smugly.

“Lord Woodcliff is with him.”

Charlotte’s smugness wilted and she took a glass of punch
from a passing footman and sipped it slowly. Elizabeth’s parents had died,
heavily in debt, when she was young and she’d been raised by her grandmother
who possessed a respectable lineage, but not much money. This Season was
Elizabeth’s chance for a successful marriage. Charlotte had vowed to do all she
could to help her friend, even if it meant putting up with an intolerable
gentleman like Lord Woodcliff. “Is he now?”

“How can you pretend such indifference?”

“I assure you, I’m not pretending.”

“But you were speaking with him today in Hookham’s.”

“It doesn’t mean I have an interest in the conceited man.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” a deep voice said
from behind them.

Charlotte and Elizabeth turned to greet Lord Ashford. In his
dark, fitted jacket he cut a dashing figure, fashionable but not dandified. At
six and twenty the Earl possessed a large fortune and simple tastes and avoided
the excesses of drinking and gambling so prevalent among many of his estate.

“My lord, one could never speak ill of you. The help
you’ve provided the hospital is without equal,” Charlotte replied, extending
her hand in greeting.

“It was Miss Knight’s delightful suggestion to which you
owe your thanks. Without it I never would have thought to be so generous.” He
smiled at Elizabeth, his eyes sweeping down the length of her to admire her
rich green dress and the way it perfectly complemented her slender frame and
light completion.

“You’re too kind, my lord,” she demurely answered.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Dr. Walter and see
if he’s ready to begin.” Charlotte turned to leave, bumping into the gentleman
standing behind her.

“Good evening, Miss Stuart,” came a familiar voice from
the wide chest in front of her.

Charlotte followed the straight line of brass waistcoat
buttons up past the neatly tied cravat to Lord Woodcliff’s face. His strong jaw
was relaxed with his engaging smile which softened the angles of his chiseled
cheeks. In the candlelight, his brown hair seemed richer, his eyes a livelier
shade of blue. They met hers with the same amusement which had filled them when
he’d examined her books earlier today.

“Have you no kind words for me?” He bowed.

She curtsied slightly, catching the faint fragrance of his
cologne. Deep notes of sandalwood mixed with something sharper, an exotic spice
she’d once tried in a marketplace in Baden but now couldn’t name. She took a
deep breath, both to steady herself and to indulge in his rich scent before
rising and offering him a cool smile.

“Lord Woodcliff, kind words aren’t enough to greet a man
of your esteem.”

She wouldn’t allow him to distract her now as he had in
the library. Moving around him she strode off across the room. For all her
desire to dismiss him, she couldn’t resist looking back.

He smiled devilishly at her, more amused by her rebuff
than reprimanded.

With a silent huff she set her sights on Dr. Walter, the
manager of St. Dunstan’s who stood with his wife near the window.

“Dr. and Mrs. Walter, I’m honored to have you here,” she
greeted her guests, working to forget Lord Woodcliff and settle her attention
on the events of the evening.

“We’re the ones who are honored. I rarely have the
privilege of presenting my work to such an esteemed group.” Dr. Walter trilled
his fingers over his thin chest, regarding her through his small spectacles
which were perched on the bridge of his round nose. Mrs. Walter stood at his
elbow, her frame as slight as her husband’s, but while he had the look of a man
of science, her many years of service to the sick had given her the serenity of
an experienced mother.

“Miss Stuart, we were admiring this image of you in Rome.”
Mrs. Walter pointed to a painting on the wall above them of Charlotte posing
before the Coliseum.

“I was ill in Rome and could do little but sit. It seemed
the best time for a portrait.”

“Didn’t you find travel abroad dangerous, especially with
the turmoil between Austria and France?” Mrs. Walter asked. Although the matron
was all too familiar with the depths of human suffering, Charlotte knew Mrs.
Walter had not traveled more than a few miles outside of London in her entire
life.

“Not at all and I hope to return to the continent,
especially France as soon as possible.”

“I wouldn’t recommend Europe to any lady at present,” Lord
Woodcliff offered, joining their little group.

Charlotte stiffened, wishing he would find some other
person in the room to pester, but now that he was here, she was forced to make
the introduction.

“Dr. Walter, may I introduce Lord Woodcliff. Dr. Walter is
my guest of honor.”

All Lord Woodcliff’s previous joviality vanished as he
offered a curt nod, regarding the doctor with a suspicion usually reserved for
ragamuffins looking to pick a man’s pockets.

“You don’t believe in lady travelers?” Dr. Walter asked
with a grin, his generous nature allowing him to ignore Lord Woodcliff’s
palpable coolness toward him.

Charlotte wasn’t so considerate, fixing Lord Woodcliff
with a chiding frown he ignored.

“On the contrary, I think travel an excellent occupation
for a lady. But until Napoleon is finally dealt with, Miss Stuart should enjoy
the sights of her own country and leave Europe to the soldiers,” he proclaimed
as though she were some silly chit and not a woman who possessed more
experience on the continent than most London gentlemen.

“Or perhaps Lord Woodcliff, you should limit your opinion
to subjects men know best, such as brandy and snuff.” She took Dr. and Mrs.
Walter by their elbows, ready to be done with the haughty Viscount. “It’s time
for your presentation, Dr. Walter.”

Striding past Lord Woodcliff, and determined not to return
the curious scrutiny he fixed on her, she led Dr. and Mrs. Walter to the
scientific equipment in the middle of the room. The guests fell silent as the
couple set to mixing the contents of the different vials in the large
evaporator glass. While they made their preparations, Charlotte addressed the
assembled crowd.

“Dr. Walter, the head of St. Dunstan’s Charitable
Hospital, has agreed to share with us his most amazing new theory. We owe a
great deal to men like Dr. Walter who work so hard to alleviate the suffering
of the poor people of London. He will explain and demonstrate for us his latest
discovery, which he assures me will benefit many patients.”

The guests clapped as Charlotte joined Aunt Mary,
Elizabeth and Lord Ashford on the edge of the crowd.

“Let me first thank our generous hostess, Miss Stuart, for
allowing me to share my findings with you tonight.” Dr. Walter motioned to
Charlotte who nodded modestly at the polite applause. “I’ve reviewed Dr. Davy’s
work regarding the effects of nitrous oxide and I believe it has the ability to
benefit surgical patients. Beyond the initial euphoria experienced by inhaling
the gas, larger doses induce sleep.”

With a theatrical flair, Dr. Walter lit the burners
beneath the evaporator glass.

To Charlotte’s delight, the entire crowd awed with
interest, except for Lord Woodcliff. He watched the presentation with a
cynicism to make Hamlet appear like a pleasant fellow. If Charlotte had thought
he’d be this hostile to her guest, she wouldn’t have invited him, no matter how
much it helped Elizabeth with Lord Ashford.

“Using an idea from the
Middle Ages,
I created this leather mask and tube to deliver the gas directly to the
patient.” Dr. Walter held up a leather mask with a striking resemblance to the
medieval plague masks but with a shorter beak attached to a long hose connected
to a vial filled with swirling gas.

“What a frightful looking device,” Elizabeth whispered to
Lord Ashford.

“I’m sure it’s quite safe,” Lord Ashford replied when Lord
Woodcliff, who was now suddenly behind them, leaned forward.

“I’d be careful about trusting physicians with such
theatrics.” Lord Woodcliff’s voice, well above a whisper, caught the attention
of many including Dr. Walter.

Charlotte was about to ask him to refrain from further
comment when Aunt Mary’s firm hand on her arm silenced her.

“This is science, Lord Woodcliff, not quackery,” Dr.
Walter answered with authority.

“I hope you don’t delight in the gas as Dr. Davy did in
Brighton. Didn’t his experiments prove the gas has no real medical value?”

Charlotte opened her mouth to intervene but Aunt Mary cut
her off with a sharp whisper. “Allow Dr. Walter to defend himself.”

For her aunt’s sake, Charlotte said nothing.

“Dr. Davy proposed the gas as a cure and, as you stated,
his experiments proved otherwise. I, however, am proposing the gas as an aid to
surgery, to relieve the patient’s suffering by rendering him unconscious,” Dr.
Walter explained, but Lord Woodcliff shook his head, still not satisfied.

“How can you be sure the gas is not lethal?”

Charlotte, despite a hard squeeze from her aunt, couldn’t
remain silent. If Lord Woodcliff continued with his questions his doubts might
spread to the others and threaten her ability to raise money for the hospital.